


Instances, for Love

by JayJ



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Cursed Storybrooke, Destructive Behavior, F/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, Season/Series 01, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-29
Updated: 2013-06-15
Packaged: 2017-12-09 22:50:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/778871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayJ/pseuds/JayJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>No,</em> he'd wanted to say, <em>love was an addiction,</em> endless relapses and repetition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Name

To love, to love, and to truly been loved.

And to maybe, once more, have love again.

He reflects and wonders as emerald eyes stare up at him, glowing with a messy array of gold framing their tainted brilliance.

It was a frightening prospect, and a dangerous possibility, if one understood the context of it. The overuse and recurrence of that single concept, of that one little word, and of his bitter and long history with it.

"Love is supposed to be the simple part," Emma tells him absently, her tone light. Gold grins humorlessly and toys with a ringlet of her hair.

 _No,_ he'd wanted to say, _love was an addiction,_ endless relapses and repetition.

Maybe to warn her from it or from him—likely both—but underneath his cold and calculating veneer lays that lowly coward still; impassioned, and pitiful in his silly desires. So instead he utters her name and kisses her sweet, docile lips.

Poetically tragic is what it really was; a true and venomous form of literary madness at its heart.

His damnable and villainous heart.

For love—his love—was a vile poison. A sordid affliction for all those it happened to befall. It had and always would be.

He can't let Emma have it.

But, for the time being, he'll selfishly take hers.

***** ~~~~~~ ***** ~~~~~~ ***** ~~~~~~ *****

There's an art to it.

How Gold does that; kisses her in deep and colorful ways.

Emma doesn't understand the perspective of it, or him, or any of this for that matter.

It's difficult to grasp. Her mind keeps swirling. He does that to her.

They were blending together swiftly and much too starkly. As if compelled solely by his will and fine talents; a startling stimulus that had rendered her defenseless to its decadent influences.

Her breathe hitches, her body quivering nimbly. Dark eyes are deviously shadowed as they look upon her, his touch a contrast and playfully teasing.

There's an eccentric quality to him that she had not expected; a baleful flair that was suited and entwined with an inherent darkness that brushed and lulled her in the most peculiar ways.

Like she's being spun; round and round and round. Become disjointed, and not quite herself anymore. If she was she'd perhaps feel more concerned about this affect, this power, he held so easily over her, and of his unrelenting and persistent use of it.

It's making her abstract.

But he distracts her easily and often, speaks her name softly, and sways her mind from such needless thoughts. Emma blinks, and blinks again; her mind becoming a canvas before him.

It fascinates and disturbs her and sometimes she hates the way Gold does that; says her name— _Emma_ , Sweet _Emma_ , Darling _Emma_ —uses it like it's precious, and remarkable, and only his to have.

But she doesn't want it to belong to any one. Not again, not anymore.

Yet this is different, feels different. It's disconcerting and draining to be so fervently pursued and adored. A curious thing it was; to feel this ambitiously wanted, and by Gold of all people in this strange little town.

She's never felt this type of passion before, not like this, like it was somehow and always meant to be.

Destined is the wrong word for it, she wants to believe that, but his sultry and excited breathe outlines her name, once more, along her blank skin with curing and precise strokes and suddenly it's the only one that seems to fit the motif between them.

Insistently, he draws at her heart.

Fated, manipulated—it'll all look the same in the end.

Emma closes her eyes.

***** ~~~~~~ ***** ~~~~~~ ***** ~~~~~~ *****

A fool for love.

He's always been one.

That was very much Gold's problem, and his most apparent weakness. It made him vulnerable and rash; encouraging him to become susceptible to his own distorted and twisted fallacies.

It should, and needed to stop.

Because he could love Emma, has nearly come to love her, in a way, in a terrible and haunting sort of way.

It may be for the best that he considers letting her go and be rid of her in this manner. For he was predisposed not to suffer heartbreak lightly; murder, betrayal, and violently destructive tantrums were his common outlets to its infliction. And she doesn't know that; she'd only had a glimpse. But he did, he knew all too much.

Like how he knows, with a harsh and defined certainty, that if they continued on any further she'll inadvertently break his heart. His thrice cracked and irreversibly flawed heart. And when she does commit to shattering what's left of it he can't be sure how he'll retaliate or the extent of the thoughtless cruelties he'll rain down upon her for doing so.

And he'll go too far if hurt again, regardless of circumstances. Rejection has always brought out the worst and most vindictive shades of his character. He can't allow that to happen. Not again, not this time. He's done enough to her already.

It takes effort, and a degree of willpower he sorely lacks but he rarely uses her name anymore. And when he does there's no directed force or timbre behind it. Its honest now, said simply for the sake of saying it. Enjoying its sound and wanting to savor the feel of it before it fades from him.

Without its power he suspects she'll be gone soon enough.

But then time passes and, quite astonishingly, Emma continues to come.

Gold cannot fathom why she would but it stirs something inside of him. And so he finds he's unable to push her away, to completely deny himself of her. Obviously, he's lonelier and more careless then he had once thought.

So he rationalizes it; tells himself that she comes to him willingly out of her own tangible desires and because he is that fundamentally selfish, and just as desperate, and so can easily make himself believe it.

He wants to keep her, just for a little while longer. But he'll need to tread lightly, and cautiously, or all would be broken to pieces.

This little dalliance could be nothing more then an illusion. A fictitiously weaved romance that would carry on so long as it remained anything but true.

For him, it was just a gratifying and self-indulgent lie. So he slips his fingers behind Emma's neck and urges her close.

And he was so very good at lying to himself.

Gluttonously Gold coddles and revels in her as zealously as a man who has spent too much of his life without goodness or faith in its prolonged existence.

"Don't let me…" he whispers, pleads, in her hair, against her flesh, over and over, as his hands devotedly worship the curvatures of her raw and supple body surrounding him.

It's a hopeless prayer, "Don't let me love you."


	2. The Kiss

A kiss is a kiss is a kiss

Serve a purpose, a function, or a common interest. Tall tales she's grown accustomed to telling. To make a point if needed but generally meant to lack any real substance.

It was how Emma liked it. Made it easier, and safer, to maintain that intended distance she strived to keep with people. She preferred not having to care all that much.

But that was then. Now something has inexplicitly been altered. It's a noticeable shift, one the keeps growing beyond her control; like a chasm of unsolicited vulnerability. It's disconcerting, and grating on her nerves. It was undoubtedly a consequence of becoming involved in this little town with its quaint and lively residents; a particular few to be exact.

There's a welcome home party thrown for Mary Margaret. He comes. Of course he does.

Gold's presence permeates the room but Emma initially and purposefully ignores it. Passively she makes her rounds amongst the guests; engaging in idle chit chat here and there and smiling when she must. It's a routine she carries on until deeming it fit to finally approach him.

They're a confliction in public; animosity and chilled sarcasm, both capable of playing out their cordial antagonism flawlessly and accordingly. Nothing about them would suggest anything remotely friendly, let alone romantic, so no one's the wiser to it. The party happily carries on as she makes her inquiry to his attendance.

"I was invited," Gold claims smartly, "I am Mary Margaret's lawyer, after all."

But she'd already deduced the awkward faultiness of his presence in this place. He's misplaced and seemed to have no real desire to be here or interact with anyone. It peaked Emma's interest; his ulterior reasoning for joining the festivities.

So she plays gullible for the sake of appearances and because she's curious enough to pursue this conversation further. In an effort to do so she decides to thrusts some valid accusations at him, Gold parries, rather predictably, with steely indifference.

Emma notices it instantly.

His stance was uncommonly stiff, his jabs halfhearted, and his usually attentive stare appeared distracted and keeps shifting elsewhere.

He's off his mark tonight.

Something has clearly riled him.

Gold tries to hide it but he's not as indecipherable as he believes himself to be. Or maybe she's become well-versed in interpreting his body language. Regardless, she knows. The how is irrelevant. Emma doesn't really want to think about it.

Their conversation progresses as Gold rather pointedly asks her about August. Her answers are decisively terse; she has an opinion about the man but not much else. Not yet, but she's working on it.

Then he throws in a stray and odd inquiry about trust. And Emma lies, mostly; claims to feel it more for the enigmatic and shifty writer than she does for him. To be honest, at the moment, she doesn't trust ether of them; of their motives or of their steady involvement with her.

She flashes Gold a sardonic grin.

But the sudden grip on her wrist is harsh and unkind, not unlike his outward conduct as of late, causing her to yelp.

Instinctively, Emma glances around the room. Thankfully no one seems to have noticed. Her focus turns back to Gold sharply.

She openly glares at him, for his rashness and disregard. But he remains unfazed. Just stares at her sternly, takes a deliberate step closer, and blatantly invades her personal space. She becomes noticeably uncomfortable. There were too many people around.

Now he's the one smirking at her.

But Emma just catches it, and briskly realizes he may have wanted her to. See that she's managed to hurt him.

There's an undeniable thrill in that. It's wrong, but it is there. A part that likes that she's capable of inspiring this erratic and emotional side to Gold.

Perhaps that's what keeps drawing her back to him despite her reservations about the man and of her growing concerns for the one buried deep within those specifically constructed outer walls.

That man frightens her sometimes. Not in any obvious ways, but in the little murky ones.

Mostly because Emma thinks he may love her.

He shouldn't but he does, she suspects that he does, and she's afraid of what that could mean, what would become of them if she allowed him to do so.

And that it may already be too late to stop it.

"A word, dearest _Emma_ …" Gold said coarsely, lilt becoming richly suggestive as he leaned in too closely, "…in private."

She blinks at his request as a strange, eerily familiar, confusion and dreariness washes over her. Emma's thoughts becoming muddled and numb making her lightheaded and causing her to stumble. His arm gruffly loops around her and she easily falls into his embrace.

She uncharacteristically leans into it.

"Emma!" the concerned voice of Mary Margaret echoes behind her. She feels the soothing presence of her roommate approaching and hovering nearby. Her attention instantly veers towards the other woman but words seem to have eluded her.

"It's alright, Miss Blanchard, it appears Miss Swan has been struck by a momentary spell of dizziness," Gold's silky voice coils between the three of them like a snake, "perhaps some time away from the party to catch her bearings would be ideal."

Mary Margaret nods her head at his suggested remedy, "of course, some fresh air may help," she agreed, stepping closer; intent on collecting the burden of her friend away from the handicapped pawnbroker. When she does Emma feels the hold on her waist tighten considerably.

"No need to trouble yourself, dearie, I've got her."

Clearly surprised Mary Margaret halted, "are you sure Mr. Gold? I wouldn't want to inconvenience you."

"Not at all, I was about to leave myself anyways," he explained but upon noticing the brunette's uncertainty adds "it would be inconsiderate of me to allow you to abandon all your guests when my assistance is so readily available."

"It's not necessary—"

"I insist," he pushes curtly. Emma feels the strain of his fingers digging into her hipbone so she quickly interjects for the sake of her roommate.

"I'll be—good, with Gold." She tells the other woman kindly with a small, reassuring smile. She sees the obvious hesitation, "enjoy your party. I'm fine. I won't be long, promise."

"Alright," Mary Margaret conceded reluctantly, "let me just get you your coat."

"You mustn't fret so much, Miss Blanchard," Emma feels rather than sees as Gold drapes his own heavy coat over her shoulders. His pungent scent invades her senses, seeps inside, "I assure you that Miss Swan's well-being is currently my utmost concern."

The two woman share one last glance, Emma giving a final nod of assurance, before Mary Margaret slowly steps aside allowing the seemingly unlikely pair to take their leave from the apartment. Gold's arm never quite abandons its position over her as they make their way out the building and into the cool night.

While they silently walk Emma tries to concentrate on the pulsating tap of his cane beating against the pavement in an attempt to refocus her wayward thoughts. Her efforts are in vain though, and in her distracted state she barely notices where he's leading her off to.

It goes on for an extended period of time; the walking and her mindfulness of Gold's pace. It's quickened, she observes, like a flustered heart. And then it stops dead; the walking that is.

"Emma," he said firmly but it lacks the same emphasis he'd evoked earlier that evening. Still, it draws her attention back up to him.

They're standing nearby Granny's Bed and Breakfast. It's an odd place for him to have taken her. But they're all alone, as Gold intended, so the setting is likely inconsequential.

Or maybe it is. He's fickle, and tricky like that.

But under the watchful twilight, amongst the trustworthy eyes of shadows, he seems softer and less assured as he looks at her. He appeared conflicted and there's an air to him that's obscure and so unsettles her. Emma tries to consider the reasoning behind it, and of her influence over it.

She wanted to know what it meant. Not just this, but all of it. What could have happened to him today to make him like this? Why does she care?

When had she even started to?

They're stuck standing together in condensed silence; the inclination to speak remains absent for them both. Gold's staring at her like she doesn't make any sense to him at all. Emma supposes she doesn't. She wonders if he's aware of the fact that the sentiment is completely mutual.

She tries to look away.

The night air was particularly crisp; the chill of it pinching irritably at her cheeks. She feels cold and exposed under Gold's scrutinizing gaze so she busies herself with slipping her arms into the sleeves of his jacket. It's a momentary distraction; a second to breathe. She needs it, but the reprieve it brings her is short lived.

He's taken the incentive and drawn all the more nearer to her. The warmth of Gold's proximity is both caressing and infringing on her. Emma's inquisitive but duly still as he lifts his palms and rests them tentatively along the collar of her loaned coat, feels their warmth as he glides them down along the lapels edge, before giving an assertive tug; adjusting and straightening it out for her. The gesture is so domestically affectionate that it jars her. Emma wants nothing more then to move away from the moment and to catch her bearings but Gold's hands remain fisted and clinging to the tailored fabric; coarsening her to remain in place.

"You don't trust me."

She glances into his eyes, the confusion in her own blatant. Had her offhanded comment truly disheartened him to this extent? It seemed, at least to Emma, a rather excessive reaction to something so superficial and pointless.

She asked skeptically and bluntly, "Should I?"

"It's a good foundation." He contends obscurely.

 _For what_ , she meant to say but before she can Gold's gruffly pulling her close and purging the distance between them.

The kiss is unexpectedly chaste but their bodies are angled together clumsily; his hands still clenching her lapels tightly while her own lay listlessly at her side as animated and aimless as a the arms of a neglected ragdoll.

Despite its simplistic innocence the kiss resonated in her like an epiphany; like Gold was making a resolute and grand declaration to her.

She doesn't kiss back, not yet; he doesn't give her a chance to. For as abruptly as it had begun the kiss ended. He moves away slightly but not enough to ease her now chaotic and bewildered senses.

The duality of the man were perplexing and exasperating to Emma. She's rendered motionless by it—by him, by the kiss—by every one of his exploits and choices he forces her to endure and make.

It was becoming increasingly difficult to figure out when his actions were based on a particular scheme he was enacting or if it was aroused by something else entirely; something impulsive and emotional, and that should never have motivated the man she perceived and expected him to be.

Emma exhales deeply; her muggy breath curling around them like the remnants of a fleeing soul. The urge to reprimand him fills her; to scold him for doing something as stupid as suddenly kissing her like that.

This wasn't supposed to happen, was not how the story was meant to go. That was the point. She had thought that was point.

What did Gold truly want from her?

The spontaneity of hearing that very question coming from him catches Emma by surprise.

"What do you want from me?" he whispered, tone sharp, pitiful even. There's an unusual edge to his demeanor she can't place or shake. Almost distressed but also accusatory; like he's weighing the blame on her, as if the inner turmoil he's undoubtedly suffering through is somehow all her doing.

Maybe it is, but she'd never meant for it to be. It's not her fault. It was his, for starting this to begin with. She'd simply allowed it to carry on.

It was a mistake. Emma's beginning to realize that.

Her deepest fears and suspicions for it have nearly been realized. It bothers her; for she would never have pegged Gold as an emotional cripple. He hadn't seemed the type—notwithstanding outwardly appearances—and that had been the appeal for her.

It was supposed to be easy and meaningless; being with him.

But Emma also understood better then most that not all handicaps were ones that could easily be seen or expressed. And when a person finally allowed themselves to become exposed, to make visible that vulnerability, there was no way of ever hiding it again

She really hadn't expected Gold to love her.

And she still didn't trust him or the extent of her own confused feelings for him. But Emma couldn't risk hurting him here and now because of his recklessness and her own uncertainties. She still needed him; needed his alliances and occasional support.

That kiss had been a dangerous risk for him, and for her. It wasn't fair, and Emma wasn't ready for it. Assessing him right then and there she contemplates if Gold was even aware of the gravity of what he'd just done.

"I want…."she hesitates, searching for the words but her mind is still in a haze so they're difficult to find. She's not ready to confront this so she decides to say something just to appease him, or maybe her curiosity, "I want to know what's wrong."

He's taken aback by her vocal concern; literally steps away from her. His eyes widening a fraction; there's a torrent of emotions in their dark depths. Gold can't seem to control them. He tries to anyways.

"I know something is wrong. Tell me what it is," she insists gently, cautiously, unsure how to anticipate his reactions.

Gold then falls to pieces subtly, as only he could, but still tells her nothing substantial. Only that he'd lost a son and that he wants him back. Emma nods in understanding; she knows what it means to want to reclaim a child.

They have that; things in common. She's learning that more and more.

And it's significant, this admission he gives to her. That he would tell her means too much. Emma suspects that it'll come with a price, this knowledge, one she is unsure she had intended to pay.

So instead she surges forward and kisses him once more; kisses Gold like it's a secret that needed to be kept.

It was a strategic move, and a poorly veiled imitation of what he had sought from her.

He kissed her back anyways; serving its purpose, for now.

A short time later Emma returns to the party; dejected and introspective. She knows now that a kiss was no longer just a kiss.

It was a conflict of interest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this latest chapter.
> 
> So sorry for the delay. This chapter ended up taking me much longer then I'd thought it would to put together and finalize it to the point where I was happy enough to post it.
> 
> I actually thought about breaking it up into two separate chapters but could not decide on a good place to end one part and start the next without it feeling disjointed and kind of awkward. So I've left it as is. But on the upside I got to offer you an extra long chapter to make up for the update wait.


	3. The Cycle

Loss is a constant.

An expectation, and a perception Gold holds. He'd seen the outcome, over and over, one way or another. Inevitable, the variables had been fixed, beyond even his cunning calculations and wretched attempts at altering it

And pain is interminable.

It was the crux of his prolonged existence; ruthlessly persistent and perpetually felt. One that comes and it goes in spades; sometimes bad, other times unbearable so. He's learned to live with it; to an extent.

But love was sporadic.

Easily avoidable and immaterial if the necessary precautions were made and factored in. It needn't have been a concern. Not anymore. Its appearance and integration was solely the byproduct of a systematic and inherent default; his deep longing for it, essentially.

Making him weak and erratic—and kept doing so—causing hasty errors and irreversible miscalculations.

In summation; it was never supposed to be part of the plan.

It just always seemed to happen anyways. Becoming the spark—the instigator—for the continuous and burning cycle of tragedy that seems to have defined and plagued Gold his whole life.

To love is to lose, with loss comes the pain, and that pain yearns for love.

In-between is the darkness, the rage, and all those destructive machinations.

And on and on it went; looping around incessantly like the spinning turns of his cursed wheel. He needed it to stop, but it appeared it never would. For it seemed Gold could not refrain himself from eventually seeking it out.

He'd had very specific designs for Emma Swan.

The whole of her existence was born solely from his necessity of it; the sum total of a very long and complicated equation. Nothing personal, or warranting any consideration. So admittedly, an elicited romance had not been a factor he'd bothered equating into their future rapport and relationship.

Then he'd met her, and now he's begun to.

But during those initial stages of their little dalliance Gold had intended never to apply that word or the concept—of love—so openly in regards to her. For time and experience had taught him to be particularly cautious and fearful of it, and of that.

Or maybe he'd just hoped not to truly feel it. Only mindlessly entertain the false notion of it until the breaking point was successfully achieved. He really had no desire to once again endure the recurring sequence of loss that would inevitably follow its prospect and attempted incorporation.

He would lose Emma in due course. As he has everything, and everyone, that has ever fallen victim to him and his attentions; with his inflexible foresight and perilous passions.

It should not have even happened this time. He'd held dominion over her name and had simply wanted to make use of its power and persuasion; to test it, really. The seductive pull of what little magic he held in this world.

That was all, Gold tells himself still.

And yet, it's there. He's sure it's there—that feeling—harder and more brutal than it needs to be because he was, and would always be, deep down inside, a hopeless romantic at heart.

It's because of this particular disposition of his that Gold nearly says it to her once, and only once.

In the wake of one of their more heated encounters.

Emma comes to him that evening quite suddenly in a charged and wild state.

Though she tries stubbornly not to dwell on the reasoning behind it he has his suspicions and insights and knew the likely source of her erratic behavior. Yet Gold doesn't bother pushing an admission from her; only because the threat of her fleeing was of too great a risk. And one needed to remain mindful when choosing their battles; gauge their victories, and make due with their losses.

Besides, he'd already deciphered her intentions for coming here; Emma was seeking him out strictly for the purpose of offering her a momentary escape from her troubles. So really, no advantage would be gained by exposing the known truths behind her abrupt arrival.

But then, maybe, he's just become too aware of her absence as of late to allow her to up and leave him as swiftly as she'd come.

Ether way, Gold sees exactly what she wants from him. And he wagers that she knows he's figured it out. It's why she doesn't hesitate despite circumstances surrounding them. Circling around it was unnecessary at this point, and she was a creature of action first and foremost.

He's learned that already.

So he'll give Emma what she wants. At what cost; he's not yet decided.

She comes towards him both rashly and desperately, and he welcomes the role of victim to her destructive and drowning desires. Her kiss is smoldering and harsh. He returns it in kind.

It's become easy enough.

Possibly not the healthiest nor fairest thing for him to do—indulging her whims like this—but he does so for himself mostly; she'd grown distant and scarce since that night by the inn and he's come to miss her in his own selfish little ways

Brazen kisses mixed with tugging caresses rapidly become more frantic and heated. They can barely make it to the bedroom in their clumsy haste, and the sting in his leg is almost unbearable when they finally do.

A sign, perhaps.

Yet it neither deters nor dissuades Gold from following through. Emma is everything that matters to him right now—to have her, all he wants is to have her again—regardless of the damage and fallout that would likely arise once it was over and done with.

To be with her like this, in the flesh and so completely, is nearly excruciating in growing necessity. Its dangerous how much he's come to need this from her. More so than she does, he'd realized after their last encounter, and even more then she would ever choose to understand.

Roughly, he pressed Emma down into the mattress. She willingly yields to him and then swiftly urges Gold over her.

Nothing that happens between them then is remotely gentle; it's viciously raw, and suffocating, overwhelmingly so, and unrestrained in a way he's never expressed or known before. And yet there's a sort of comfort to be found in this; the pain ignited and felt between them. Both were trying so aching hard to feel something from the other; be it physical or emotional or something else entirely.

But that fine line had long since become distorted and blurred by the fervour of their increasingly reckless choices and passions.

He could no longer recognized what he actually wanted from her, or from this, and he suspected that she too was becoming lost in the fray of defining whatever this was growing between them. But, and in spite of this developed dependency, they still had their roles to play for a story that needed to be told. One that was too long in the making to be forgotten or left unwritten.

And yet, he wants to; some of the time. Rarely, but there are those occasions he considers the possibility. They've had moments with each other; secret and kept guarded deep inside, that make him entertain the notion of an alternative.

Just for an instant.

And then, as quickly as the thought comes, Gold must remind himself that he is very much the villain in this tale, and Emma would always be its destined hero. Despite everything, that was who they were. And what they were only ever meant to be to one another.

Love; it did not, nor could not, matter in the grand scheme of things. But still, he wonders; only in those times without her close.

It's during these periods that he thinks that maybe this was what love was in this dreary and hollow little world. Without the element of magic yet still powerfully present; as crushing and great in strength as it was back in the enchanted realm.

He can't say it's what he feels for sure, but he feels something akin to it nonetheless. But then there are those crueler thoughts that come as well; where he finds himself absolutely certain that he hates her instead.

So round and round it went and goes; emotional conflict at its finest and most brutally consistent.

Gold's easily provoked by the abrupt curl of her fingers twisting through his hair. So he digs his own into her tender thighs in childish retaliation. Emma gasps, and his breathe quickens.

He doesn't want it like this. He can't bear it for much longer.

But he won't let it stop.

Each touch they give one another is more hurried then the last, and yet there's no rush to reach their peak too quickly. Coarsely, he drags his open palms over and around the curves of her flush body while she pushes him deeper and more fully against her with every stroke he forces into her.

Emma arches gracelessly; her pull insistent and fierce in its intensity that he's so nearly consumed by it. But then he catches a fleeting glimpse of her eyes and sees their lack of glow as she anxiously draws him nearer to her.

Gold purposefully tries to ignore it; too engrossed in thoroughly taking her to distract himself with such an insightful little detail.

It was easier; to dismiss these sorts of things. The image he creates of her is all he would allow himself to look at anymore. He's clung on to it since that night; with the two of them, and its foolish little kiss.

And he wants to believe that he can; strives to focus on it often. Even Emma seems partial in allowing him these false assessments. Still, he can't help but find it rather disconcerting that she's never seemed more at ease in his embrace then she has right now.

He thinks there is something frightening and darkly revealing in this. But Gold warns himself to remain indifferent to its meaning and not to question its rooted source. It was just another disturbing truth she's slipped and laid bare that he'll need to avoid as he pursued this sense of obliviousness towards her real character.

But he looks into her eyes again anyways.

Because it's grown increasingly difficult to do that—to do nothing—as his feeling for her continue to evolve and alter and become skewed beyond the bounds of his restrained control.

Gold can barely stifle the groan that tears through his throat then as the storm of release bores down on him viciously. He soon hears Emma and the low hum of her own washing over her.

He's finally swayed by its broken sound.

Sensibility and cold calculations fade from Gold's mind as his body slackens and settles in close. His touch lingers over her; becoming softer and more soothing in intent and purpose as he gently leans in and begins whispering words in her ear in an effort to ease away what remains of her tensions.

He tells Emma that he knows what's wrong, and asks what can be done to make it better; if it's only for a little while.

He implores her to let him do this for her.

And for once she seems receptive towards his affection; maybe even eager for it. Which was a clear indication of the toll growing pressures have taken on her. So he brushes away the moist tendrils of hair from her brow and assures her firmly that it would be alright in time and that was all that mattered; nothing else. And Emma nods her head quietly against his warm touch.

So this was it.

The turning point.

And the eve of the end; that impending spin of the eternal cycle. The one moment that would soon break them apart, and when his loss of her would become a definitive and absolute certainty.

Following in their carnal aftermath, as they lay together in hushed and sated disarray, the unexpected and completely unintended almost occurs. When Emma's breathing has slowed and deepened; her heightened nerves having finally calmed. She's nearly fallen asleep in his arms as his lips trail carefully along the path of her bare shoulder.

It was here, in the heart of this careless indulgence, as Gold's clouded eyes catch a stray glimpse of entwined silver, that the words nearly slip loose.

He'd stumbled on them, and she in turn had stiffened against him. Those profound little words left teetering on the edge; ready to fall.

But only if he let them.

And it dawns on Gold quite suddenly and rather sharply that he wanted to say them, to tell her, in spite of the risk of their inevitable downfall. And he's glaringly impassioned and hopeful enough then to be expectant of her mutual reciprocation.

He thinks that she's capable of it; of truly loving him.

His stare falls once more upon the glimmer of Emma's wrist. But before Gold can declare a single syllable—possibly condemning them both—she turns her head towards him and he's gripped and rendered silent by the clarity of her deliberate stare.

It stopped him cold, and chilled his old bones.

For it seems she was apprehensive and far more perceptive to the threat he unwontedly imposed on her, on all those around her, then he'd ever dreamed she would be.

Emma slowly twists herself more fully against him; lifts her hand delicately to brush her fingers along his lips briefly before tactfully resting them there to ensure he remained stilled and quieted.

"It's not real," she compels him, "please don't tell me it's real."

There's another meaning there and it's that, combined with her innate ability to pacify him, which rouses Gold from his momentary bout of impulsiveness and irrational desire.

So he leaves the words unsaid, balanced unevenly between them, and she smiles softly for him yet her eyes remain surprisingly difficult to read.

But with the weight of his averted declaration now stirring just below the surface, along with everything else already breaking it down, this is when things finally start to unravel and crumple apart.

Emma moves away abruptly, dresses quickly, and soon leaves him there alone. And Gold doesn't even try to stop her. He's seething inside, and bitter enough to know that it was better to simply let her go.

Left with nothing else he collapses into a restless slumber and is plagued by nightmares of what has passed and what will soon come to pass; of the pain to be inflicted, and the loss to endure because of it.

Days later Emma breaks the curse.

And Gold brings the full force of magic to this world.

Deception and hurt falls in the middle. As does a beautiful girl once thought forever lost. The cycle of tragedy is fractured; altered in an unforeseen manner. And suddenly nothing is, or can be, the way it was.

Or so he thinks. Perhaps this was hope. He'd never imagined the possibility of a second chance.

For true love.

The prospect is overwhelming, and startlingly problematic.

But, as always, the constant and interminable are ever existent and therefore they ultimately correlate themselves with the turning of events. And because it was a proven fact; he had, and would always, time and time again, destroy the things he loved most. Fatalities; it was in his nature to weave them with his affections.

So as one love appears to him out of the blue the other is ceremoniously lost as a consequence of his vindictiveness. Emma's gone, along with her mother. There's nothing to be done.

Knowing that is the price.

He's left momentarily crippled with emotion because of it; distraught and devastated yet again. Once more Gold finds himself utterly heartbroken. And by his own accord, as was per usual.

Another turn.

And he tries to tells himself over and over that this was his own fault—his suffering and disillusions, for he'd intentionally let things get too far with her—but he'll soon come to blame Emma for it. It's what he does, and what he's always done. Assign away the blame.

This _was_ her fault.

So that evening, hidden under the sullen embrace of sorrow and candlelight, all he's capable of feeling is the pain of his loss and the fury that comes with it. And as a result Gold steadily and systematically burns every little thing that reminds him of her; ridding himself of Emma's memory and smashing to dust the pieces of his everlastingly longing heart.

This time he leaves no memento.

The next morning Gold awoke and rose anew; turned around and determined to reclaim his old and only love once more.

And so the cycle continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay...another chapter done. 
> 
> This is definitely a big dividing point for the story. The curse is broken now but there's still a lot to be explored and developed for the Gold-Emma relationship in both the pre and post curse timelines so diffidently expect some back and forth in future chapters. It'll be interesting to continue building them up to the emotional points their each at here while also breaking them down in the aftermath of it all.
> 
> Fun times ahead...


End file.
